Consideration
by Gone Rampant
Summary: A mercanary finishs off assassins that try to kill him. I also reveal a little about him. First Star Wars fanfic, and it introduces an OC I plan to use heavilly. One-shot.


_**Consideration**_

_**Hey guys, this is my first SWTCW fanfic, so small doses of flaming is allowed if I suck, but if I don't, no flaming allowed! This fanfic (Which is a oneshot) also introduces an OC that's going to be big in my Star Wars fanfics. So enjoy!**_

He dived behind the counter, bullets flying above his head. _I don't know what's more amazing, _he thought wryly as he lined up a shot, _the fact I got caught, or the fact that they actually managed to _find _me._ He stopped thinking as he fired, a high-stream of bullets hitting one of his would-be-assassins. His shields held for a second, but then dropped as fast as him. _Probably that they found me, _he thought to himself. He vaulted over the counter, his shields flaring up as well as his gun.  
It was a Vindicator Personal Assault Weapon, or as he called it, the Vindicator. You could fire it in eight, very accurate, three-shot bursts, or you could fire it in a less powerful, less accurate, fully-automatic sixty round hailfire. The hero of this piece, was, of course, using the one Rambo would. The rounds fired against the shielding of the mercs, killing their shields, and putting them open for a stomach full of lead.

Thirty seconds after the spirit of Rambo had descended upon the people in the Little Hagway hotel, Ryloth, the Vindicator ran out of bullets. Fortunately, all the mercs had died from a mix of bullet-holes, blood-loss from a previous encounter with the person they were trying to kill, and sheer fright of an unleashed Vindicator, with the exception of one, who was clearly faking not breathing.

It helped that he was facing upwards and therefore the Vindicator-wielder could see that he was breathing, quite easily.

He walked over to the man, slinging his rifle across his back, after popping a fresh power cell into it, and putting the rifle back onto its three-shot-burst. After reaching the man and pretending to not see him still alive he turned as if to leave the carnage he'd left behind. 

Suddenly, his foot snaked out and kicked the man in between the knees. The merc let out a groan of pain, and the kicker knelt down onto his hunkers to get a better look at him.

The man, now weeping from his recent wound, was bald, and seemed to be in his forties. The one kneeling down, whose name was Marrikane Cananvi, was in his early twenties from the look of him, and looked at him with a mix of humour and anger.

"Shouldn't you be in the old-folks-home pops?" His voice was soft, but you wouldn't know that because it was drenched in sarcasm. "Because someone at your age shouldn't be in this business." The older man got a look at Cananvi. He was wearing a long black trench-coat, with a similar black shirt and trousers. He wore gloves too, and his boots went up to about halfway between his ankle and knee-cap. His face... he couldn't see his face because Cananvi was crouching in front of the sun.

"Shouldn't you be-"He was interrupted by Cananvi, who'd leaned forward, grabbing him, showing him that he kept a fair few throwing knifes there, and a hidden-blade reaching out for his face.

"No one said you could talk," Cananvi said like he wasn't grabbing an armoured man while a blade attached to his arm started to touch his enemy's face...

With a snap, the blade retracted back into his sleeve, and Cananvi leaned forward menacingly.

"Who hired you're squad to chase me around, hunt me down and try to kill me?" There was no emotion in his voice that gave anything away. The man stumbled over his words, saying how he had a family, and how he needed the money a mercenary job offered, and how he didn't know, and when he said that Cananvi snapped his blade out and stabbed him in the neck, and then, bringing another one out from his left hand, putting that in the man's skull.

He fell instantly, bleeding heavily, though already dead. Marrikane stood up, dried the two blades, slotting them back in their places. He sighed, bringing up a hood so he could hide until he could get to his ship- a shower, some food, drinks, and a cheap piece-of-shit-romantic-movie he could rent at a store.

He then took his hood off, pressing a button on a console on his wrist. A helmet snapped out of his armour under his clothes, covering his helmet. A HUD (Heads up Display) came up, showing a map, an ammo count for the Vindicator and a pistol he had on his belt, and a metre showing him his shields strength.

He breathed out happily: It always felt good knowing his shields were at a hundred percent. He started out walking towards the space-port, a bit of a spring in his step- No-one was trying to murder him, there were no jobs on offer so he could actually _rest _tonight, but then there was that sense of dread- Someone tried to kill him, All the movies on his ship were stuff he'd seen a few thousand times-_Note to self: Get better movies_- and then there was the tiny fact that he didn't know who hired those would-be-assassins. There was also a more personal one: _Telos..._

_No. I'm not thinking about Telos IV, that's in the past, _Marrikane thought. Yeah. Right. And he'd start a dog-shelter. He'd remember Zybrack. It helped to have a perfect memory that made sure he wouldn't forget anything that happened in his life any-time soon.

Without realizing, Marrikane had taken the long route. He was now headed for the port through the city: Full of people trying to just live their lives, hookers, drunks, and people who wanted revenge after you just killed their husband/ best friend/employee /father. Sure enough, there was a car that was full of armoured mercenaries.  
_Well, no one ever said that being someone like me was easy, _he thought. _No wait. It is for me! _

Thankful for his helmet, Marrikane brought out a sniper-rifle hidden under that black trench-coat, and using the zoom feature, lined up the ring leader: A Togrutan with yellow armour.

_Time to go to work, _the freelance mercenary/assassin/ anything thought as he fired the shot, the recoil causing his shoulder rise considerably, but it was worth it: the Togrutan's head was no nearly completely blown off, like sticking a shotgun to someone's head at close range. Marrikane dived into cover, and couldn't help but grin at the prospect of fighting. As he thought as he reloaded: _I live for this. _

_**Well, glad we got that done. **_

_**You may have noticed that Marrikane seems like your standard action hero: All brawn, no brains. Trust me, I'll hope to give him a brain, and I'll definitly flesh out his backstory.**_

_**Two more things: One: This is a oneshot, it's just to introduce myself to the Star Wars the Clone Wars archive, and I'll start penning the sequel as soon as I can. **_

_**Two: Marrikane will be meeting up with our favourite Master/Padawan group. No, not Obi-Wan/Anakin, Ahsoka and Anakin! What God gave you for brains, I don't know... **_

_**Look. Marrikane will meet Anakin and Ahsoka. How, I'm working on that still, but give me some time, okay? Just one more thing: Please review! It makes me so happy to see I've got one, and I'll work on the sequel faster! Other than that, see you!**_


End file.
